Joe McKeever

"Show Me," She Said

First a little background. I fell in love with Sarah Chamblee when she was four years old. I was preaching a revival in the church where her dad was the minister of activities and each night, sat on the front pew beside little Sarah until time for me to walk to the pulpit and preach. She was every bit the little lady, quiet, studious, lovely, and sweetness personified. I would draw pictures for her, naturally. That week was the only time I saw her until she was grown. When she started to school, she would write asking me to draw her with her "big red dog." She would send school photos. I have more than one from her teen years. (She told me much later she never did have a big red dog; she just wanted one.)

About five years ago, I called that church (the FBC of Denton, Texas) to ask if Bill Chamblee was still on staff. He was; I think he spent his entire career at that church before retiring in 2008 to begin a sports ministry. Anyway, Bill's wife Marcia called Sarah, by then married to Jeremy Armstrong and teaching school at Frisco or somewhere, and said, "You're not going to guess who called today -- someone out of your past." Sarah thought of three or four names, mine being one.

She and Jeremy drove over to visit us four or five years ago. Then, two and a half years ago, Ella was born. This child is a blessed replica of her mama. These days, the photos are either of the entire family or just Ella. She's a winner.

Now, here's the story....

The other day Sarah was instructing Ella how it was important that she learn to obey her parents without complaining or stalling. She said, "God tells us in the Bible that children are to honor their parents by obeying them." With that, the two-and-a-half-year-old hopped up and ran into her room. She picked up her little pink Bible and returned to the living room, plopped it in Sarah's lap, and said, "Show me!"

What the Interim Pastor Can Teach the Church

My friend Reggie often serves churches as interim pastor. Since he's a seminary professor -- not only teaching several classes of future preachers but handling a heavy administrative load outside class -- he does not have enough time or energy to do much more than preach for the church that engages him.

A colleague told me yesterday that when Reggie begins his work at a church, he tells the pastor search committee, "I am not interested in becoming your pastor, so please don't ask me. If you ask me once, I will say 'no.' If you ask me the second time, you will have my resignation."

He adds, "Because that tells me your committee is not actively searching for a pastor for your church, but is looking inward."

I've known a hundred interim pastors over the years but have never known of another one saying such a wise thing. In fact, the average interim pastor gets his head turned all too easily by the wooing of the pastor search committee or by members of the congregation. (I am all too aware that occasionally the Holy Spirit chooses this method of matching a preacher up with the right church, so this is not a blanket condemning of the process.)

Ernest is a retired director of missions and a longtime friend. Recently, I was speaking in the association where he put in many years and over supper was hearing about his post-DOM existence.

"I've been retired five years," he said. "And there has not been one Sunday when I've not been interim pastor in some church somewhere." He continued, "I might have missed a few Sundays preaching, but I was always the interim pastor at one church or another."

I told him that a mutual friend, J. C. Mitchell of Columbus, Mississippi, once told me after he retired from being director of missions that serving as interim pastor of churches was so liberating and gave him such a podium for making a difference in the church, he thinks he might have been called by God to be an interim pastor!

Ernest laughed and said, "I know exactly what he's talking about. A church is willing to receive counsel from the interim they would never take from the regular pastor."

"That's strange," I said. "Why do you think that is?"

The Church With Spunk

(Background Text: The first few chapters of Acts)

A Canadian pastor friend tells of a woman who stood in a testimonial service and announced, "I'm determined to do anything the Lord tells me to do -- so long as it's honorable!"

Most people would not express it quite that blatantly, but many of us erect conditions to be met before we will obey the Lord. This is particularly true when we make the decision to leave our comfortable buildings and impact our community with the gospel.

"Yes, sir, Lord -- we'll be going into our Jerusalem with the message of Christ! We plan to meet people and minister to them and share the gospel -- and we intend to do this just as soon as all the conditions are right!"

Therein lies the barrier to obedience. We intend to obey the Lord's command to evangelize our Jerusalem just as soon as the CONDITIONS are right, the COMMUNITY is receptive, and the CORE-GROUP is ready.

On the surface, that sounds like good, conservative, reasonable and solid thinking.

1) Ideal conditions within the church: the congregation is healthy, united and supportive of this plan. The offerings have been exceeding the budget lately, creating a nice surplus for missions. The timing is ideal.

2) Ideal conditions inside the community: as we move out into the city, the people welcome us with open arms. They've been eager for someone to bring the gospel their way. The gangs disperse, crime drops to nothing, and everyone rejoices that we loved them this much. The community is ready.

3) Ideal conditions within the core-group assigned to this task: they are all trained soulwinners, Spirit-filled, fully prepared for whatever circumstances they find, and eager to make a difference. The leadership is right.

That sure would be nice.

Too bad it hardly ever happens that way. It's not how the real world works -- not even in the original Jerusalem community where it was the disciples themselves infiltrating their community with Jesus' message.

The Focus of My Prayer

They're complaining around here about a newspaper article written by some northern reporter who was featuring one of his city's sports heroes, a fellow who grew up in the Bunche Village neighborhood of Metairie. Most of the article was about him, we're told, but one paragraph got everyone's goat locally. The reporter said something to the effect that Metairie is dirty, dingy, and dangerous.

The athlete had told the reporter that the railroad track runs through the village where he grew up and that frequently dead bodies were found alongside it. Sounds like a scary place, all right.

That same railroad track runs 200 yards from my house since I live just south of Bunche Village. We've not seen any dead bodies, but the world being in the shape it's in, I don't doubt that guy did across the tracks.

Aaron Broussard, President of the Jefferson Parish Council (we don't have a mayor for Metairie; even though the population is over 300,000, it's unincorporated and run by the parish) responded quickly to point out that Metairie is one of the safest places in Louisiana (which just raises the question of how safe Louisiana is) and far safer and cleaner than the city where said reporter lives and works.

My own observation to all this is: it all depends. Depends on what part of town you're in, depends on where you look. Every city of any size I know anything about has its lovely sections and it's eyesores, its "Norman Rockwell" neighborhoods and areas where you would not want to be caught after dark. Metairie is like all those other places.

Just depends on your perspective. On your focus.

A Great Time to Be Alive

A half-century ago, a study commission was created to look into the matter of stress and its impact on the health of the American population. Its chairman was Paul Dudley White, who is widely recognized as the founder of preventive cardiology and was the personal physician for President Eisenhower. The commission announced what we take for granted today, that stress is a killer and must be dealt with in order to live a healthy well-functioning life.

When asked what people could do to get stress out of their lives, Dr. White said, "Stress is life."

There is no getting around stress. Even if one stays home and locks all the doors and has his meals slipped under his door, the human spirit still finds matters to worry about, causes to stress over. If you are alive, you are dealing with stress.

Stress is not "par for the course;" it is the course.

"Economy is lousy, and so is our health." So goes the headline in Tuesday's Times-Picayune. The article by Stephen Smith is a reprint from the Boston Globe, and brings news that has to have been expected. The tanking economy with its burgeoning unemployment lines, foreclosed homes, and revelations of waste and scandals in high circles is affecting the health of Americans.

Smith writes, "At Massachusetts General Hospital, patients whose blood pressure was in check just weeks ago now find it rocketing out of control. They blame the economy."

"At Boston Medical Center, obese patients who had been shedding weight are packing on pounds again as they resort to cheaper, high-calorie food and abandon gym memberships. They blame the economy."

"At a Framingham doctor's office, patients forgo screening tests such as colonoscopies because they don't want to spend scarce dollars on copayments. They blame the economy."

Faith's Substitutes

My nearly 93-year-old mother helped me with Sunday's sermon. I was in the car headed to the First Baptist Church of Waggaman, a small New Orleans bedroom community located alongside the western shore of the Mississippi River, where I was filling in for Pastor Bobby Malbrough as he recuperated from knee surgery. Mom and I were having our daily morning chat covering the usual stuff.

Mom's great-grandson Jon Cagle had spent the night with her. She said, "I asked if he was going to church this morning. He said he didn't feel like it. I told him if I went only when I felt like it, I'd never go to church." She paused and added, "He said he was going right home and getting dressed."

I was primed to preach on Faith that morning, based on our Lord's question to the panicky disciples in Mark 4:40. When the storm threatened to swamp the boat, they awakened the sleeping Jesus with an accusation: "Lord, don't you care that we perish?" The Master awakened, calmed the seas and winds, then turned to the frightened twelve and said, "Why did you fear? Where is your faith?"

Great question, isn't it?

We could ask that question of all kinds of people. Someone is considering giving his life to Christ in salvation. He hesitates, wondering what kinds of changes this might involve, what Jesus could possibly require of him, and how his friends may react. We want to say, "Hey friend, why do you fear? Where is your faith?"

Someone who has already made that private inner commitment to the Lord is on the cusp of going public -- confessing Him, joining a church and receiving believer's baptism. She hesitates, not wanting to step out in front of all those people, not knowing all the workings of this church, wondering if the pastor will drown her during baptism. We say to her, "Why do you fear? Where is your faith?"

A believer thinks of going down the street and welcoming his new neighbors and perhaps inviting them to church. He hesitates, not knowing who they are or how he will be received. "Why do you fear? Where is your faith?"

Your co-worker is in big trouble. His marriage is failing, he is distraught, and you think of comforting him with prayer and encouragement to turn to the Lord. You hesitate, afraid of intruding, of being thought presumptuous, of being rejected. Why do you fear; where is your faith?

The offering plate will be passed shortly. You pull out your checkbook to write a check to the Lord's work. You think of this bill that is due and some possible expenses you may be facing soon, and consider making the check for a smaller amount than you had planned. Why do you fear? Where is your faith?

Fear is frequently the opposite of faith.

But faith is such a grand and multi-faceted concept, it has numerous opposites.

Thank You, Friend.

I drove 70 miles each way last night to attend the wake of the father of one of our pastors who had suffered a massive heart attack at the age of 72. Pastor Lynn Rodrigue said, "Dad was in great health. In fact, he'd just had a physical and they had to ask him to step off the treadmill because he could have done that all day." He said, "I suppose it was just his time."

One never knows. And that's the reason for this.

I need to say 'thank you' to some people while I'm still able to do so. On the one hand, I'll be retiring from this position with New Orleans Baptists at the end of April, and since so many churches across our land have sent their members and resources our way in the last 3 years and six months, I need to thank them for that. Likewise, since I'm only three years younger than Mr. Rodrigue when he exited this life and since we have no foreknowledge of when our moment will be, I need to thank a lot of people for their input and encouragement to me through all these years.

If that sounds like an impossible job -- to thank everyone who ever helped our New Orleans churches and me personally -- I'm confident it is. Where to start and when to end!

On a personal level, I thank my family. My devoted wife of nearly 47 years, Margaret, and our wonderful sons Neil and Marty and their incredible wives, Julie and Misha, and our daughter Carla. As the saying goes, "I couldn't have done it without you." Of course, the eight grands have added a dimension to my life like nothing else. In order of their appearance, this would be Leah, Jessica, Grant, Abby, Erin, Darilyn, JoAnne, and Jack.

I thank my wonderful Mom and terrific Dad (he's in Heaven) who brought me into this world and nurtured me and taught me to appreciate work and the good earth, my beloved brothers and sisters who made sure I did not reach adulthood without the requisite numbers of scars and great memories, and my cousins and aunts and uncles who invited me into their homes (I remember every detail of every visit!) and introduced me to their worlds and let me know they believed in me.

Is this getting boring? I was afraid of that.

This must be one of those exercises that is meaningful only to the one doing it. When you finish, you feel like you've done something significant, but it's not anything anyone else would want to read.

Okay, let's try this approach....

How to raise a champion...

In the Florida Baptist Witness for January 15, 2009, the mother of Tim Tebow, all-star quarterback for the University of Florida's national championship football team, tells how she and her husband raised their children, all of them winners. "We told them, 'if you hang around with fools, you're going to suffer harm. You need to hang around with wise people."

How we wish we could get that point across to every kid on the planet.

My grandchildren have a hard time believing that their grandpa was in trouble as a seventh-grader. I was running with two or three fellows whose idea of a good time was to sit on the back row in class and goof off, then cut class in the afternoon and roam around town. We smoked cigarettes (when we could get them), we stood around the pool hall (we didn't have the money to play), and once we actually stole a student's billfold.

One day it hit me that absolutely no part of these activities were fun. I was miserable. And that day, all by myself, at the advanced age of 12, I made a life-altering decision: I moved to the front row in class. That means I left the guys I'd been goofing off with on the back row, there were no distractions between the teacher and me, and I began enjoying class once more. Two years later, when a local civic club awarded a trip to the state capitol to the best students in the ninth grade, I was the boy representing our class.

The first Psalm has something like this in mind: "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful."

Before You Enter "Luke's Gospel"

Remember the story in Luke 12 that Jesus told about the man who owned a magnificent farm that overproduced? He congratulated himself, tore down his barns and built bigger ones, and set himself up for a life of ease and luxury. God called him a fool and added, "This night your soul will be required of you. Then whose will these things be which you have provided?" The fellow died that night and his farm was left to his heirs.

Frank Pollard calls that story "The farm that owned a fool."

A month ago, this wonderful preacher of the gospel went to Heaven, and many of us have been having Frank-Pollard-withdrawal ever since. A friend sent me a CD of some of his banquet talks which consist mostly of humorous poems and stories he told over the year. This morning, I ran across the small book Frank produced on the Gospel of Luke for the Southern Baptist annual Bible study a half-dozen years ago.

There are so many Pollardisms in it, I thought you would enjoy some of them. Then, if and when you decide to study this gospel more or if you plan to teach it or preach through it, I suggest you go to any of the on-line used-book-providers (my favorite is www.alibris.com) and order it.

Frank Pollard, I might ought to insert here for the few who are unfamiliar with him, was the longtime pastor of Jackson, Mississippi's First Baptist Church. Time Magazine called him one of the 10 best preachers in America a generation ago. That was no fluke. Anyone who heard him preach regularly agrees. For fresh content, excellent application, and fascinating exegesis of Scripture, he had few peers.

Regarding the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15, when the boy comes home to a grand reception by the father, Frank writes, "Hollywood certainly would let the credits roll here. The boy is back; there is a joyous homecoming; the best calf has been butchered. The smell of barbecued beef and the sound of happy music are everywhere. A huge party is in process. Turn the house lights on." Then he adds, "Our Lord did not end His parable there. The plot was just heating up. Jesus was getting to His main point." He moves on to considering the older brother, who Frank says, "left his father without ever stepping off the front porch." (pp. 15-16)

Potpourri on Inauguration Day

Today is Inauguration Day in America, one unlike any other in our long history.

If I were writing President Obama's inaugural speech, I'd have him approach the podium and call out, "Americans, we have overcome!"

We still have a lot of overcoming to do, but thank the Lord, some things are behind us.

It's good to see Americans of all political stripes uniting behind our new chief executive. He will need all the good will and prayers we can direct his way as he faces the tough decisions of his new office.

"God bless him and keep Him. The Lord make His face to shine upon him and be gracious unto him. The Lord lift up His countenance upon him and give him peace."

Now, other matters....

My friend Devona Able, wife of one, mother of three, and lawyer for the Social Security Administration up in Alexandria, Louisiana, tells about her two-year-old tumbling down the stairs. Her family was visiting in the home of friends, and both families' young'uns were having a grand time throughout the house. After the child thump-thump-thumped down the stairs -- Devona assures us he's fine -- they noticed a change in the children.

Thereafter, the kids hung around close to the adults. Before, they had been whooping it up and freewheeling around the place. But now they seemed to want an adult in their space. Their host made the observation -- one which the theologian in us agrees with heartily -- "Everything changed after the fall."

Did it ever. Devona's website is http://devonaable.org. You can read the whole story and Devona's interpretation of it. She'd be proud to have you among her readers.

Writing in Time magazine for January 19, 2009, Justin Fox suggests that just as Congress passed a law in 1980 to make producers of toxic waste pay for its cleanup (the Superfund law), it ought to do the same with the perpetrators of the financial mess the country is having to rectify now. He suggests we find "the financial polluters and force them to ante up some of the bank-bailout money." When we hear about the multi-million-dollar salaries and bonuses the executives of failing companies took home, it makes perfect sense to require them to give a great deal of it back.

Fox says the word for this is called "clawback," and he does not expect it to happen. But a fellow can dream. (Justin Fox's daily take on the economy is http://curiouscapitalist.blogs.time.com/. )

It's been a while since a local newspaper columnist got my dander up, but James Gill did it Sunday morning. This ancient curmudgeon was waxing-an-elephant (okay, waxing eloquent) on the 2008 Louisiana legislature's bill which allows schoolteachers to bring in interpretations on the origins of the universe other than evolution. The bill specifically says that nothing in it shall be construed as promoting religious doctrine. What it does and what it was meant to do, I expect, is to allow a science teacher to talk about "intelligent design" if he or she wants to without bringing the wrath of the ACLU or the board of education down upon their heads.

Well, Gill is sure that this opens the door for nutty religious people like you and me to bring our pulpits into the classroom and turn the place into a tent meeting. He is so anti-religion it isn't funny.

The statement that really set me off was this: "Religion takes everything on faith, and science nothing."

Your Lord Loves You

The USS Astoria was a heavy cruiser that saw duty during World War II's Battle of the Coral Sea and at Midway, then was sunk in August of 1942 at the Battle of Savo Island. On board in the fight for Savo was Signalman 3rd class Elgin Staples. Sometime around 2 a.m. on the ship's final day, Staples was blown overboard when one of the Astoria's gun turrets exploded. In the water, wounded in both legs by shrapnel and in a state of near-shock, Staples was kept afloat by a narrow lifebelt which he had activated by a trigger.

In his book, "The Grand Weaver," Ravi Zacharias tells the fascinating story of what happened next.

Four hours after being blown into the Pacific, Staples was picked up by a passing destroyer and returned to the Astoria. Even though the cruiser had been severely damaged, her captain was trying to beach the ship in order to save her. When his attempts failed, Staples found himself back in the water. By now, it was noon.

This time it was the USS President Jackson that plucked him out of the water. On board, Staples studied that little lifebelt which had saved his life twice that day. He noticed the belt was manufactured by the Firestone Tire and Rubber Company of Akron, Ohio, and carried a registration number.

Allowed to go home for a visit, Staples related his story to the family and asked his mother, who worked for Firestone, the purpose of the registration number on the belt. She pointed out that the company was holding employees responsible for their work in the war effort, and that each worker had his/her own number. Staples recalled everything about that lifebelt, including the registration number. As he called it out, his mother's eyes grew large. She said, "That was my personal code that I put on every item I was responsible for approving!"

His mother had made the belt which had saved his life twice.

What Faith Does

Sunday morning, the lay leader of Faith Baptist Church, Calvin Watson, announced that as they were entering their new sanctuary and educational building for the very first time, the church is debt free. This lovely edifice at the corner of South Claiborne and Fern in New Orleans is the culmination of the hopes of this nomadic group of wonderful friends who left the membership of FBC of New Orleans some 7 years ago when the mother church relocated to the Lakeview area. The Faith folks wanted to maintain a witness in the Uptown area. For several years, they worshiped with the First Presbyterian Church, then after Katrina scattered everyone, met with Riverside in River Ridge, and then ever since with Rayne Memorial United Methodist Church on St. Charles Avenue.

Emile Wagner, member of a Catholic church and devoted friend of Faith Church (he's a lawyer who has helped negotiate the rapids of purchasing the new property; his daughter Lori leads the worship at Faith), told the congregation, "See the wooden pegs coming out from the base of the pews? Those used to hold kneeling rails; the pews are from St. Rita's Catholic Church." A few moments before, the congregation had been kneeling at the front altar to dedicate the church and themselves. Emile said, "As a Catholic, it did me good to see us all on our knees!"

During the announcements, Calvin Watson said, "When you enter the bathrooms, look under the door latch and you'll find the privacy button. Just push that and you'll have privacy. When you turn the latch, it clicks off." Everyone smiled. I said, "I've been coming to Baptist churches all my life and that's the first time I've ever heard that announcement!"

Pastor Tim Searcy preached on the praise passage at the conclusion of Romans 11 and the first two verses of Romans 12, emphasizing the result of our praise and celebrating: we give ourselves to the Lord as living sacrifices.

Early Sunday morning, I ran up against a great Bible truth we all need from time to time. As Israel moves toward Canaan, Moses begins to get the Lord's people mentally ready to face their enemies in battle. He emphasizes that they are not to be afraid (20:1,3), and then he does something really fascinating. He identifies four groups exempt from warfare: anyone who has built a new house and hasn't dedicated it, anyone who has planted a new vineyard and not eaten of it, anyone engaged to a wife who hasn't married her yet, and anyone scared out of his wits.

Think of that -- if you're afraid, go on home. You don't have to fight. (We can easily envision every last member of the military saying, "Okay. See you.")

Why such a liberal policy concerning the fainthearted? "Lest the heart of his brethren faint like his heart." (Deut. 20:8)

Fear is contagious.

Sunday, January 18

My nearly-93-year old mother said the other morning in our daily phone call, "You know, I really think Obama is going to do well, don't you?" I assured her I'm praying that he will."

Fun to see her so engaged in this. And thrilling to see millions of Americans so caught up in this inauguration.

The Parade magazine this Sunday morning says Obama just finished reading Jonathan Alter's book on FDR's first one hundred days -- The Defining Moment -- a book we have alluded to in this blog. I finally finished it last night, and am pleased he has read it. It covers two things in great detail, first, the transition from the old Hoover presidency to the incoming presidency of Roosevelt. The lessons in that are massive. Hoover kept urging the incoming president to take action to prevent the further decline of the economy. FDR kept reminding him that "you are the president; do it yourself." In his memoirs, we're told, Hoover blames FDR for the sad state of the country's financial mess at the time of the transition. Seems to me like a leader who refused to lead, then blames others for his own failures.

Secondly, Alter covers the first few months of FDR's administration. To my surprise, it turns out the new team had no grand scheme for how they were going to turn things around in this country. They just pulled leaders together and brainstormed and tried various things. Some worked and some didn't.

I spoke Friday night to a large meeting of pastors and deacons and their spouses in Jackson County, Mississippi, meeting at the FBC of Moss Point. They asked me to speak on "giving it away," which is another way of saying, "share your faith in Christ." I was glad to do so.

From the time the invitation came my way, I did what I always do and began praying the Father would lead me about what to tell them. Usually, the answer arrives in time for me not to be anxious, but in this case, it was Friday before I knew.

What Tenacity Looks Like

Do you know Sumner Redstone? His autobiography is called "A Passion to Win."

In the days when he was chairman of Viacom, Redstone ruled over an empire which included CBS, Paramount, Blockbuster, Simon and Schuster, and about half the channels on your cable system. As a young man, he graduated first in his class at Boston Latin, sailed through Harvard in three years, learned Japanese and decoded messages for the O.S.S. (forerunner of the CIA) during World War II, and argued cases before the Supreme Court---all before beginning his business career.

Not your average joe.

In 1979, Sumner Redstone checked into Boston's Copley Plaza Hotel. Sometime after midnight he smelled smoke and made the mistake of opening the door. Immediately he was engulfed in flames. Just down the hall, his co-worker opened his door and stepped into the corridor -- and was burned to death.

Redstone staggered across his room and managed to open a window. He was able to climb onto a ledge just outside his third-floor window and kneel there, his right hand clinging to the windowsill. Flames shot out the window, roasting his arm and hand. His legs had been burned to the arteries and now his arm was charring. He thought if he could just hold on a little longer, surely help was on the way.

What he did not know was that Copley had not wanted anyone to know they had a problem and had not called the fire department.

For what seemed an eternity, Redstone held on to the ledge. "The pain was excruciating," he writes, "but I refused to let go. That way was death."

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Expect the Wolves

It was near midnight when the phone rang and Pastor Jim Cymbala answered. A pastor in South Dakota was on the phone. He wanted the Brooklyn pastor to know God had laid the inner city on his heart and seemed to be directing him to bring his family to New York. Pastor Jim listened politely, then told him how things were there.

Jim and Carol Cymbala were just beginning the work which would become the great Brooklyn Tabernacle. In those days, only a few people were meeting, the finances were small, and both the pastor and his wife were holding down two jobs to make ends meet. That night, he promised the South Dakota pastor he would ask the Lord to direct their steps.

One week later almost to the minute, the phone rang again. "We're coming!" the South Dakota pastor said. "My wife, two kids, and I are packing up and leaving for New York tomorrow!" The Lord had spoken so clearly to them, he said, they had no doubt this was what they were to do.

This surprising turn of events unnerved Pastor Cymbala. What are these folks expecting from him? He had no work for them and no place for them to stay. He had not invited them to come to New York and yet they were on their way.

He asked the preacher to call him when they got to New Jersey.

Four days later, the phone call came. They were almost to New York. Jim ran to the store and bought the cheapest steaks he could find. Relating this story in "The Church God Blesses" (Zondervan, 2002), Pastor Cymbala says, "We didn't have much money, but we wanted to be as hospitable and gracious as possible."

That evening the Cymbalas received the young husband and wife and two beautiful children into their home. Over supper, they listened to their plans to make their lives count for God in New York City. Jim writes, "I was too shy and inexperienced to ask about their former pastorate or how they were able to leave South Dakota on such short notice."

Soon the question arose as to where they could stay. Eventually, Jim and Carol decided they could make them a bedroom on the second floor of the church. "It wasn't much but an elderly lady lived up there in a tiny apartment and another church member lived on the premises with her daughter."

During the Friday night activities at the church, the visitors met some members of the congregation. On Sunday, Pastor Cymbala introduced them to the church. "I noticed he had gotten friendly with some of the members very quickly."

Everything was going fine. Or so it seemed.

Then everything began to unravel.

Passing of a Beloved Maverick

G. Avery Lee died on December 23 in Lake Charles. Readers with New Orleans backgrounds will remember this one-of-a-kind pastor who served St. Charles Avenue Baptist Church from 1961 to 1980. He was 92. A memorial service will be held at St. Charles Avenue Baptist Church (7100 St. Charles Ave) on January 30 at 2 pm.

The lengthy obituary in the Times-Picayune fills some of the gaps of my own knowledge of Dr. Lee. Prior to coming to New Orleans he served the FBC of Ruston from 1948 to 1961, and before that directed Baptist student work at LSU while serving as associate pastor of the FBC in Baton Rouge.

I was a student at our New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary in the mid-60s, so had occasion to learn of Dr. Lee first-hand. After I became director of missions for BAGNO in 2004, he and I swapped a few notes and kept promising to get together. I regret that we didn't.

Would it be too harsh to say that Dr. Lee took a special pleasure in being a burr-under-the-saddle to defenders of the status quo in our denomination? (The newspaper's headline calls him a "pioneering pastor." That's one way of putting it, I suppose.)

Some quotes....

A Motorist's Prayer

There's a line where the Apostle Paul says in the last days men will be "ever learning and never coming to the knowledge of the truth" (II Timothy 3:7).

I don't want to be too hard on such folks, because that describes me in more than one area. Last evening, for instance....

On the way home from the office, I ran by the neighborhood grocery store. I approach that parking lot with fear and trepidation because it has to be the most dangerous spot in town. Cars enter from all directions, people are walking everywhere, baskets stand where shoppers abandoned them, kids speed through on bikes as though they were in their backyards, and foolish drivers impatient to get home rush down the lanes as though they were on the highway.

One would think I would enter that parking lot on full alert and watching for trouble. Instead, after a long day filled with multiple meetings and conferences, my brain was operating on three cells and my eyelids were having trouble staying open. I spotted a parking space close to the front and veered in that direction. As I begin turning into the space, a panel truck roars into the lane. I'm already turning, but throw on my brakes and come to a halt just as he would have crashed into me. I turned the wheel to the right, giving up on that parking space, and as I drove past him, did something I would never do when my mind was working.

I rolled down my window and spoke to him.

Jimmy Stewart Deals With Fear

Not long after Pearl Harbor, the actor Jimmy Stewart joined the Army and became a pilot. Through two long years of training, he suffered stateside, wanting to join the action but being used, overused, and abused, he felt, by his military superiors who wanted him as a spokesman for the war effort and bond drives and who thought him too valuable a resource to send into harm's way. Stewart chafed and complained and pulled every string he could, and finally arrived in England, ready to pilot the Liberator bombers in their runs over Germany.

He got what he had been hoping for. And for the first time in his life, he found himself dealing with fear on a massive scale. He was fine flying his plane into battle. What unnerved him was watching friends get shot down and thoughts of what could happen to him.

In "Jimmy Stewart: a Biography," Marc Eliot tells of the young pilot developing a "fear he could not easily shake." During the night before an especially risky assignment, "he lapsed into a fit of panic. Unable to sleep, he broke out in cold sweats, believing he would not survive that attack."

Later, as he reflected on the fear gripping him at that time, he said, "I was really afraid... our group had suffered several casualties even before I knew I was going to have to lead the squadron deep into Germany... I feared the worst. Fear is an insidious and deadly thing. It can warp judgment, freeze reflexes, breed mistakes. And worse, it's contagious. I felt my own fear and knew that if it wasn't checked, it could infect my crew members."

In subsequent flights, Stewart felt increasingly that he was not going to survive the war, that his plane would be shot down and he would be killed. Yet he knew that many a person with such fear does indeed survive and outlive the threat, and that his fear was both normal and deadly unless it was dealt with.

Still Hating Death

The e-mail Saturday said the young adult son of some longtime friends had been in a serious automobile accident and was in intensive care. The Sunday night phone call and the Monday morning e-mail said he had died. We are devastated for these precious friends.

No one who has ever raised a family thinks the time may come when they hold a funeral for their child. It's unnatural, it's not in the correct order of things.

The 1996 Christianity Today Book of the Year was "Not the Way It's Supposed to be: A Breviary of Sin" by Professor Cornelius Plantinga, Jr. The title alone was worth the price of the book. It gives me a certain amount of comfort when looking at the world around us with its strife between nations, war between religions, and ugliness between families and friends to be reminded that this is not the order of things as the Creator set them up.

Plantinga says sin distorts our character, perverts human excellences, and both causes and results from misery. Sin produces death, and by that we mean both kinds: spiritual and physical.

The front page of the Times-Picayune in my city this morning tells of a fellow who murdered his 72-year-old mother over the weekend. Neighbors told the story of this hard-working, devoted mother who knocked herself out raising two boys by herself. She kept the cleanest house and neatest yard in the Carrollton section of New Orleans and, they say, she doted on her sons. She sang in the choir of her Missionary Baptist Church and was the centerpiece of her community. And now one of her sons has killed her. Police say he stabbed her and choked her. He admits it, saying he did it for drug money.

There's something bad wrong with this world when this sort of thing happens.

In 1993, Woody Allen was asked to explain his incestuous affair (and later marriage!) with the Asian daughter he and Mia Farrow had adopted. "The heart wants what it wants."

Sense and Nonsense

This cries to be made into a cartoon....

Grandpa was visiting his daughter's family. After lunch, he told the family he'd be back in 15 minutes, that he was going to take a walk around the block. Two hours later, he returned. "Sorry I'm late," he said, "but I ran into an old friend and he just wouldn't quit listening."

The other day, reading a biography of Franklin D. Roosevelt, I ran across a new term. The writer spoke of FDR's accommodating himself to the polio that hit him as a young adult. When people would come to visit him or to assist him, he would talk them to death. The writer said, "Polio victims call this 'walking on their tongues.'" The idea is that they feel guilty when people come to assist them and so feel they must try to amuse them by a constant stream of chatter.

I've not had polio, but I think I've found the phrase that describes my condition!

Some things that just do not make sense....

Why does Hamas feel it can use the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip anyway it pleases -- even as shields and suicide bombers -- to provoke Israel into retaliating, then when they do retaliate, accuse the Jews of cruelty and barbarity? At a pro-Israel rally I attended Thursday night with one of our pastors who had been asked to speak, another speaker quoted former leader Golda Meir with the best bit of wisdom I've heard in years on that situation: "There will not be peace in the Middle East until the Palestinian political leaders decide they love their children more than they hate the Jews."

Life Lessons from FDR

You've seen Jonathan Alter on television news talk shows. He is a senior editor at Newsweek, a contributing correspondent (whatever that means) for NBC, and knows everyone on the political scene. His most recent book is "The Defining Moment: FDR's Hundred Days and the Triumph of Hope."

In this book Alter covers the beginnings of Roosevelt's first term in the White House in 1933. Those "one hundred days" have long been chronicled and analyzed as a turn-around for our nation stuck in the depths of the Great Depression.

The reason I call attention to the book here -- other than the fact that as a history student I find it fascinating reading and as an American citizen, I'm aware of the parallels between FDR's situation and Barack Obama's as he takes the leadership next week -- is that Alter is a great story-teller and loves those little tidbits from history which make great reading and terrific gossip. They also work well in lessons you teach and sermons you preach when you're searching for a fresh illustration.

Here are a few stories and quotes and insights from Alter's book. (Incidentally, run down to Border's or Barnes & Noble and you can buy it on the "bargain table" for 5 bucks instead of the $16 printed on the cover.)

--You know how during the Iraqi War people in this country hollered to high heaven about the Patriot Act which gave the government extraordinary powers to pursue terrorists. Well, here's what Alfred E. Smith, the Democrats' candidate for president in 1928, said about this same issue when this country was fighting Germany in the First World War: "During the World War we wrapped the Constitution in a piece of paper, put it on the shelf and left it there until the war was over." (p.5) Lincoln did much the same thing during the Civil War and FDR ditto in the 1940s.

Owning the Church

I was driving down York Road in Charlotte, North Carolina, one day and was stopped in my tracks by a little sign in front of a small church: "For Sale. By Owner."

Who owns the church, I wondered then, and I wonder now.

In national news, a court in California has determined that the national office of the Episcopal denomination owns the church buildings and grounds of several congregations which are pulling out in order to protest the gay agenda of national religious leaders. No matter that the members of those congregations are the ones whose offerings paid for the buildings; what counts is that each congregation had covenanted with all the others of their denomination that the national office would hold the title to every church. The idea was -- and is -- to keep renegade pastors from stealing entire congregations.

In our own city, after the Catholic diocese of New Orleans made the tough decision to shutter some of its church buildings following the devastation of Katrina, a lot of long-time parishioners have been unhappy. Two churches in particular have received the brunt of their frustrations.

King's Day 2009

January 6 each year is "King's Day," a tradition originally established to honor Baby Jesus. Someone centuries ago estimated that the Magi arrived in Bethlehem on this day and since they worshiped Him as "the King of the Jews," ta-da---King's Day.

Bakeries all over New Orleans are turning out King cakes. If you have ever lived in this area, you need no explanation. These pastries are calorie-rich and more expensive than they should be. Think of taking enough dough to make a cake, spreading it out flat, cutting it in strips, and then braiding the strips together and forming it all into a huge ring (of various sizes, but most are large enough for you to poke your head inside!). Inside or on top of the cake, you'll find cinnamon and colored sugar and various kinds of fillings. And one more thing.

There's a baby inside.

Supposedly representing Baby Jesus who was hid from King Herod by Joseph and Mary, the "doll" is plastic and an inch or two long. Just the ideal size for you to choke on it or break a tooth if you happen to bite down on it. That's why some bakeries have discontinued hiding the baby inside the ring and including it inside a cellophane baggie.

The custom originated sometime in the past that when friends share a king cake, whoever ends up with the baby has to buy the next cake. And that has been the cause of friends falling out with one another! As I said, they're not cheap.

Cultural Differences

Years ago, an African-American friend showed me the worship bulletin his church had prepared for the memorial service of a mutual acquaintance. At the top of the page, I was surprised to read: "The Funeralization of John Doaks."

Until that moment, it had never occurred to me that a funeral for my people was a funeralization for his. It was the first of an unending line of reminders I've received over the years in the ways blacks and whites in this country do things differently. Some readers of this blog reside in other countries -- in recent days, we've heard from South Africa, New Zealand, Australia, and this morning from Scotland -- and they may be surprised to learn while we're all fellow citizens of the USA, our cultures are vastly different in many ways.

Saturday's memorial service -- they called it a celebration; I like that -- for Pastor Marshall Truehill was unlike anything you will encounter in an Anglo service in this town. I counted the names of 17 ministers in the printed program. At one point, host pastor Dr. Dwight Webster (we were at neighboring Christian Unity Baptist Church) asked all ordained men and women in the audience to stand and introduce themselves; there must have been fifty.

I've paid tribute to Marshall in previous articles on this website, so I'm confining this to a few things readers will find interesting.

When to Retire and What to Do Then

With all the bowl games coming at us over this long Christmas-New Year's holiday week, I have found myself wondering something. Why don't coaches like Joe Paterno and Bobby Bowden retire? JoePa is in his 80s and Bobby is pushing 80. Yet, they hang on.

Brett Farve hangs on as a football player, as does Barry Bonds in baseball. You can think of others.

My question, incidentally, has nothing whatever to do with the win-loss record of the coaches. Paterno took his Penn State Nittany Lions to the Rose Bowl this year, so there may be a tendency to say, "Well, he can still do the job." Bowden's Florida State Seminoles went to a lesser bowl, but still had a fair year.

The question, "Why don't they retire?" has more to do with what is the essence of living for these men.

In his World War II memoirs, "Flights of Passage," aviator Samuel Hynes tells of a sergeant-major he knew in the war. The man was approaching mandatory retirement and everyone who knew him was concerned. He had no family anyone knew of and he spent all his time -- all of it! -- on the base doing military stuff. One day, they found his body in the office of his commanding officer. He had ended his life with a pistol.

He was afraid of life after the military.

And that, I offer to you as a proposal just to get the discussion started, is the reason people hang on to their jobs long after they should be handing them off to the younger generation: fear.

Fear of coming home to the family. Fear of having to face who they are when they're not the coach or quarterback or pastor (or director of missions). Fear of what to do with their time and their lives. Fear of being considered old. Fear of fear.

Fear of life is a real problem.

New Orleans at the Start of 2009

1) The population of the city proper, we're told, is now 75 percent what it was prior to Katrina. This information is gathered from the number of households now receiving mail from the U. S. Postal Service.

2) Funeral services for Dr. Marshall Truehill, pastor of First United Baptist Church on Jeff Davis Parkway in New Orleans, will be held Saturday morning, January 3, at 11 a.m. at Christian Unity Baptist Church (corner of N. Claiborne and Conti Streets) where Dwight Webster is pastor. Pray for Marshall's wife Miranda and their family. I'll be speaking very briefly representing the churches and pastors of our association.

Two scriptures that come to mind for this faithful brother who devoted his life and ministry to being a voice for the helpless, the homeless, and the hopeless, are these:

"He judged the cause of the poor and the needy, and it was well with him. Is this not what it means to know the Lord?" (Jeremiah 22:16)

"God is not unjust so as to forget your work and the love that you have shown toward His name in having ministered to the saints, and in still ministering." (Hebrews 6:10)

Friday's Times-Picayune carries a tribute to Marshall from columnist Lolis Eric Elie, who writes, "While the public housing debate was the most visible of Truehill's battles, the very size of that fight tends to obscure the fact that his thirst for justice and reconciliation was part of a much broader humanity."

Elie quotes Miranda Truehill, "He was a bridge builder. He cared about unity. He might disagree with someone on one issue, but he would work with them again no matter what."

Jackie Clarkson, head of the New Orleans City Council, announces the council will honor Marshall at the beginning of its January 8 meeting.

3) Tragically, we live in a brutal city where people kill one another with regularity. On New Year's Day, two murders were committed and another fellow was shot to death when he fired on police for no apparent reason. Family members of the 22-year-old shot by police say they can think of no reason for this, their son worked for a local telephone company, he's never been in trouble with the law, there is nothing on him in police files, and he had a permit to carry a pistol.